Page 66 of Property of Anchor

The boat docked at the far end of the island, and we followed the group onto a path lit by dim lanterns.Chainsaws revved.People screamed.Costumed actors leapt out from behind trees.I shrieked at least three more times, clinging to Anchor the whole way.

Eventually, we broke off from the crowd, walking the narrow path back to the haunted house.The night had gone from fun to cozy.His arm was around my shoulders, and I was finally starting to feel safe.

Then Anchor stopped.

One of the lights ahead was out.He frowned, letting go of me and crouching beside it.

I moved to stand beside him just as he pulled out a flashlight.

The beam cut through the darkness and landed on a foot.

A human foot.

My breath caught.

Anchor followed the foot up a dirt-smudged leg, over a torn shirt.The letters KOAMC were carved into the stomach.I barely had time to process that before his light hit the face.

The mouth was sewn shut with thick black twine.

“Oh no,” I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth.

“Son of a bitch,” Anchor growled.He pulled his walkie-talkie from his back pocket.

“Skull,” he barked into it.“We’ve got another one.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Anchor

I sat on Pearl’s porch as the old rocking chair creaked under me with every slow push of my boot.The air was heavy and thick with mist rolling in from the lake.A half-burnt cigarette dangled between my fingers and glowed orange in the dark as I took another drag.Pearl had fallen asleep maybe thirty minutes ago, breathing slow and even, her leg brushed against mine as she curled into me in bed.

But I couldn’t stay there.Not tonight.Not after the fourth fucking body.

I stared out into the dark, past the path, past the trees that swayed gently in the breeze.My mind wouldn’t stop.Whoever was doing this… whoever was dropping bodies like breadcrumbs across my island was sending a goddamn message.The only problem was, I didn’t know what the hell it was supposed to say.

The latest victim was the guy in the fourth picture on the USB drive.We’d confirmed that much.Young.Fit.Unknown to any of us.Like the others, his mouth had been sewn shut with black twine, the letters KOAMC carved into his stomach.Kings of Anarchy Motorcycle Club.

Us.

All of them were tied to us, but how?

Mick Barber had been the first.A new-to-town idiot who ran errands for people on the mainland.Small-time.No real club ties.His girlfriend had gone missing two days later.Presumed dead by the police.

She was.

The third guy?Still no ID.Same deal: markings, sewn lips, dumped in our waters.

And now a fourth.

What was the connection?Why here?Why now?

“Can’t sleep?”Pearl’s soft voice drifted through the screen door.

I turned my head just enough to see her.Barefoot.Her hair was a mess of curls, sleep-kissed and wild, and she had one of my shirts hanging loose over her frame.A blanket was draped over her like a shawl.

“I’m fine, doll,” I said, my voice rough.“Go back to sleep.”

She ignored me, of course.